


why sleep when you can —

by coatsandjumpers



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Begging, Bondage, Daddy Kink, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parent/Child Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Somnophilia, aka i write porn agaIN, bc all conhayth merits a daddy kink tag, just a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:08:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4984006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coatsandjumpers/pseuds/coatsandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor doesn't like being woken up, although he thinks he might make an exception this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	why sleep when you can —

Connor wakes up with a gasp, his cock hard against his stomach and Haytham’s fingers deep inside him. He twists sharply, pleasure racing through him even as sleepiness fades. Connor quickly registers the soft cloth tied around his eyes, the darkness complete. His hands are tied to the headboard, and a quick tug tells him the knots won’t be easily undone.

“Ah, finally. I was beginning to think you’d never wake.” There’s a smirk in Haytham’s tone -- Connor can hear it, slightly surprised to find how familiar he is with his father’s voice by now. He frowns, tugging again at his restraints to no avail.

“Father, untie me.”

Haytham laughs, much to Connor’s irritation.

“You’re not in much of a position to be giving commands, child.” And with that, Haytham leans forward, his mouth pressing against Connor’s as he slips another finger inside. Connor keeps his lips resolutely closed, feeling satisfaction at his petty act of revenge. He knows that Haytham can feel his scowl, but his father simply huffs in amusement before twisting his fingers, searching for the spot that will make Connor writhe.

By now, Haytham is familiar with Connor’s body, and it doesn’t take long before he finds what he’s searching for. Connor loses sight of his anger, desire making him flush as he arches, his mouth falling open. Haytham wastes no time in exploiting his advantage, deepening the kiss while his son moans, defenseless. The press of Haytham’s fingers inside him is relentless, and Connor can feel the heat building, the atmosphere of the room quickly becoming oppressive. The sheets beneath him are uncomfortably rumpled, rucked up against his twisting legs. Even so, all Connor can focus on is Haytham, every nerve and sense heightened by his lack of vision. Connor can feel his hips bucking, his wrists straining against the restraints, no longer trying to escape Haytham but rather wishing for the freedom to find him, to press more skin against skin.

Connor guesses that Haytham can sense his distress, because moments later, his father’s hand is on him, moving along his cock with quick motions. It’s exactly what he wanted and the pleasure is intense, heady. He’s close now, just once more and -- Haytham stops, and Connor whines, legs shifting wider apart in an instinctive invitation.

“Please. Haytham, please.” Stringing those words together takes more effort than Connor feels like he has right now, and his voice is raw and strained. The commands of mere minutes ago are forgotten. Connor knows he’s at his father’s mercy now, waiting breathlessly for Haytham to give him what he needs.

Haytham looks down at the boy beneath him, smiling at Connor’s desperation.

“How much do you want this, Connor? Are you willing to beg?” Haytham’s tone is lilting -- he’s not above teasing. He loves to prove a point, and it’s hard to feel guilty when Connor bucks uselessly against his restraints again, his whimpers betraying no anger from before, only neediness.

“Father, take me. Please, father.” His words trail off into a litany of pleas, the phrases incoherent but easily conveying Connor’s wishes. Haytham removes his fingers, drawing a quiet noise of protest from Connor. There’s the sound of a jar opening. Oil, Connor thinks. Hazily, he wishes he could see Haytham, could see his eyes flutter shut when he enters Connor, could revel in Haytham’s pleasure as much as he revels in his own. A second later though, Connor’s blindness means that his universe is narrowed down to the exquisite pleasure and pain of Haytham entering him, every point of contact between them a fire against Connor’s oversensitive skin.

Haytham doesn’t wait long for Connor to adjust. He was patient enough with Connor’s preparation; the boy will forgive him for this. He fucks Connor hard, all traces of humor gone. His breath is ragged, and he inhales sharply when Connor cries out, tightening around him. Haytham angles for that spot again, feeling the boy arch against him, head thrown back against the headboard. His wrists must be rubbed raw by now, and Haytham can see hints of red, irritated skin beneath the cloth restraints. Connor either hasn’t noticed or can’t bring himself to care. His whines break off into sharp intakes of breath that fall in time with Haytham’s thrusts, and he snaps his hips up to meet Haytham’s, searching for release.

Haytham drops his mouth to Connor’s neck, teeth worrying at the skin until there’s a mark there, just high enough to be inconvenient. The placement is deliberate. Haytham flushes to think of others seeing the mark, guessing at the impropriety between him and his son. The sinful nature of their activities has stopped worrying Haytham long ago, but he likes the thought of others knowing that he owns Connor, owns him in all the ways he shouldn’t. Besides, Connor won’t mind Haytham’s indulgence. The boy’s never been one for propriety anyway.

As if confirming Haytham’s thoughts, Connor moans again, knowing he just needs a little more -- “Haytham, please. I - ”. His father’s hand is on him before Connor can finish his sentence, and he strokes in time with his thrusts. Suddenly, the pleasure is too intense and Connor keens loudly, muscles taut as his come covers Haytham’s hand and his own stomach. As soon as the heat fades a little, Connor goes boneless, his arms held up only by the ties. Haytham barely pauses, selfish now as he seeks his own release. He fucks Connor faster, enjoying how pliant his son is beneath him. Quiet sounds escape Connor’s mouth, and Haytham’s unsure if the small whimpers mean pain or pleasure. Both, most likely, as Connor rests all his body weight against his restraints and the headboard. He’s oversensitive, tears pricking hotly at the corners of his eyes, and Haytham’s movements feel like too much now. He doesn’t have the effort or the willpower to tell Haytham to stop though, and he can’t help but shiver at the sparks of pleasure that accompany the pain.

Haytham’s thrusts quickly grow erratic, and he’s pushed to the edge as he feels Connor simply lying under him, willing to let his father use him for his own pleasure. A second later, and Haytham cries out, truly unrestrained for the first time this night, pressing forward against Connor to feel more of his heat against him. Connor distantly registers the heat of Haytham’s come inside him. A pause while Haytham catches his breath, then Connor squirms in discomfort as Haytham pulls out, the air cold and unwelcome against their heated skin. Haytham cleans them both up quickly, less thorough than usual. He unties the blindfold only to find that Connor has his eyes closed, slipping quickly into the limbo between sleep and wakefulness. The restraints follow, and Haytham undoes them gently, soothing the irritated skin beneath. Finally, he lays down next to Connor, roughly pulling the covers around them both. His lips drop to the new mark on Connor’s next, pressure gentle against abused skin.

“Couldn’t even wait until I was awake. And people say the young have no self-control.” Connor says it huffily, just loud enough for Haytham to hear, but he’s smiling and Haytham knows he’s teasing. He drops an arm around his son’s waist, pulling them even closer together.

“Go to sleep, child.”

**Author's Note:**

> To the person who ruined my life,
> 
> Well, we're now officially in the same circle of hell! I'd like to think I'd never have gotten to this sad point had I never met you, but unfortunately it's 1AM and I'm here anyway. The sinship is real, and the scales have finally been balanced.
> 
> Much love,  
> the person who's asking you to write more PWPs so her ao3 account doesn't look so damn incriminating
> 
> \--
> 
> finally i'm here. hell.


End file.
